Sunday Afternoon Magic

 

"Sunday afternoons are filled with long, lovely hours

that fill the soul to repletion

and which pass all too quickly."

--Ralph F. Couey

Copyright © 2021

by Ralph F. Couey

I should tell you up front that I am fully aware that a major winter storm has marched across the United States, and is right now in the process of burying the Mid-Atlantic and New England states.  Having lived through four blizzards and shoveled up to 39 inches of snow more than once, trust me, I do feel your pain.

However.

For the first time in 20 weeks, there was no football today.  The excitement and tension of the season-long tournament and the frantic "one-and-done" nature of the playoffs was notably absent today.  The opponents in the Super Bowl have been set (GOOO CHIEFS!!!!).  Much of the folderol accompanying The Big Game has been eliminated by COVID requirements.  So, there remains for us fans, merely to while away the hours until next Sunday. I had good luck with traffic and found myself at the east end of O'ahu about 15 minutes ahead of schedule on my commute to work.  Rather than report **too early** I decided to engage in some vegging out time.

When I worked nights, I did my walks in the morning, starting at Kapiolani Park and walking all the way to Ala Moana and back.  I did this not just for the exercise, but to avoid the torture of traveling Honolulu freeways during rush hour.  By the time I completed my 6-mile jaunt, the traffic was clear enough to ensure a timely return home.  During that time, I acquired a real affection for the area.  I would park in a free lot on the north side of the park, and after rounding the eastern point, walked through Waikiki on Kalakaua.  Waikiki is what you'd expect, tons of tourists, a sky shrouded by high-rise hotels and apartments relieved by the stunning stretch along that legendary beach.  I don't have the time available to do that walk very often any more, but I have gone back to that parking lot on occasion when I have some time to kill.

Kapiolani Park was originally a horse racing track, to indulge King David Kalakaua's passion.  The wide-open space remains, and if you look carefully around the west end of the park, you can still see the berms that supported and leveled the track.  Nowadays, it's a magnificent greenspace, sitting between the loom of Diamond Head, and Kuhio Beach, the eastward extension of Waikiki.

Today was gorgeous.  The temperature was a delightful 77 degrees with a gentle northeast trade blowing.  The sky was a dome of deep blue, broken by a few cumulous clouds.  This is my favorite time of year here in Hawai'i, so much better than summer's humidity enhanced by the powerful rays of a sun shining on a latitude 1,600 miles closer to the equator.  

I parked the Mustang, and walked around to the front of the car where I (carefully) leaned on the hood.  As I looked across the massive greenspace, I relaxed and took in that singular Sunday afternoon feeling.

Winning, and a Sense of the Inevitable

 

"Winning takes precedence over all.

There's no gray area. No almosts."

--Kobe Bryant

I'm experiencing a curious kind of mild euphoria tonight after watching the Chiefs dispatch the Bills and pave the way to a second straight Super Bowl.  Last year was different.  The record was 12-4, we had watched in terror as Patrick Mahomes lay on the field with his kneecap on the side of his leg, and the path to The Game was swathed in thrilling comebacks and last-minute heroics.  So, when the Chiefs got to this point, the feeling was...well...giddy.

This year, the record was 14-2, and the march through the season was infused with a sense of the inevitable.  The Chiefs were the favorites out the gate, and remained so for the entire season.  There was concern that the last few games were closer than many thought they should have been, but tonight sitting on the precipice of a second straight Super Bowl, the feeling is that we expected to be here.

That sounds arrogant on its surface.  But this is one of the most powerful teams in recent memory, one that seems about to become a dynasty.  Anything less than this moment would have been a failure.  And not securing the Lombardi Trophy in two weeks will still feel like that.  In the post-game interviews, the players attitudes reflected joy and achievement to be sure.  But beyond that was the look in their faces, the inflection in their voices which stated loudly, "We're not done yet."

Last year, just getting to the Super Bowl after 50 agonizing years was a huge treat.  Now, the Chiefs have repeated.  They expected to be in The Game, and they expect to win.  It's not arrogance so much as knowing how good they really are, and knowing that there's no situation they can't turn into a W.  Last year, down by 24 to the Texans and going on a 51-7 run.  Down to the Titans by 10 twice and 17 once and still winning.  Against the 49ers, the Chiefs were down 10 halfway through the fourth quarter...and still won.  This is a team that was built by overcoming that kind of adversity repeatedly.  They are apparently convinced that they cannot be beaten, unless they beat themselves.  This year, the big target was on their back and teams brought their absolute best against the Chiefs.  The result?  14-1 (the last game against the Chargers being a throwaway with most of the starters on the bench), and a very real sense of invincibility.  That was the Patriots for most of the last two decades, and we roundly hated them for that.  But now it's us, and what was irritating about New England now becomes just the way it is.

The next two weeks will pass with exquisite slowness, as we await the game in Tampa.  A lot will be made about this being a virtual home game for the Buccaneers.  But in the end, it won't matter.  The game will be won or lost based not on the location of the field, but what happens upon it.  The Chiefs are already three-point favorites, and the game will be a great one.  But there can only be one winner.

It would seem rash for me to predict a Chiefs win.  Certainly, there are a lot of things that can happen.  The offensive line, iffy for most of the year, now has suffered a crippling loss in Eric Fisher.  That's a big hole to plug for a group that had already lost three of their starters since the pre-season.  They are what makes the offense go.  They open the holes for the running backs, and protect Mahomes from the depredations of big, angry men.  But even with that small cloud, my own sense of confidence remains high.  I don't think the Buccaneers can win this game.  I don't think Tom Brady can win this game.  I do think that Mahomes and the Chiefs will win this game, even given the weakened front line.  

So, I am thrilled to find my team back in the Big Game.  But there doesn't seem to be the need to dance and launch fireworks.  

Because this was supposed to happen.

Two Wheels, One Heart, and Many Perfect Days

Copyright © 2021

by Ralph F. Couey

In the spring of 1993, I had landed a job at a Caterpillar plant in Boonville, Missouri.  We were living in the south part of Columbia, which gave me about a 60-mile round trip commute.  Although I had a fairly efficient car at the time, the gas (at a confiscatory $1.12 per gallon) was eating us up.  After years of unsuccessful lobbying, Cheryl, out of the clear blue, suggested I look into buying a motorcycle.  

Once I recovered from this considerable shock, I began my search.  I was fortunate in that I worked with a guy named Mike who knew a lot about bikes.  He taught me a lot about all the ins and outs of not just riding, but maintaining such a machine.  After a considerable search, and some help from some co-workers, I found my first bike, a Suzuki GS-550.  It was a very basic bike, but with enough engine for freeway commuting.  It was on this bike that I learned, first riding around the neighborhood, then some cautious forays around town.  It was a good bike, although afflicted with the electrical problems for which Suzukis of that era were notorious.  I fell a few times, not at high speed, but usually trying to execute an ascending right turn.  The only casualties were the handlebar mounted mirrors.  Fortunately, there was a motorcycle salvage yard not too far away which provided a reliable supply of replacements.  

                         

As time passed, I gained skills and therefore confidence.  On Mike's fervent recommendation,  I attended a Motorcycle Safety Foundation-sanctioned beginning rider's course.  Over that long weekend, I learned a ton of valuable information as well as skills that the experienced instructors assured me would help keep me alive.

I passed the course and a week later took my motorcycle rider's test for the state license.  It was pretty straightforward.  First test was to be able to locate all the switches on the handlebars without looking for them.  Then, I rode a straight line at low speed, making sure I took all of the allotted time.  There was a test where I accelerated quickly, and brought the bike to a controlled stop within a specified distance.  The last test was a slalom through some tightly-packed orange cones, which I had to complete without stopping or putting a foot down.  Between the class, my own practice, and Mike's sage advice, I passed the test with flying colors.  I took the written test, and received a temporary license.  A couple of weeks later, I got the real thing, actually my regular drivers license with a motorcycle endorsement.  

I got better with practice, and I began to expand my rides, taking on some twisty roads and finally, the Interstate.  At that point, I felt ready to turn my commute over to the bike.

I had that bike for about a year, when I was able to acquire an old Yamaha 1100, a kind of chopper-looking machine.  A few months later, I bought the bike I had always had in mind, a BMW 750.  Eventually, I was able to sell the Suzuki (having gotten tired of fixing electrical issues) and the old Yamaha, but at one point, I had three bikes in the garage at the same time.  Man, did I feel wealthy!

A Round of Haiku

Copyright © 2021

by Ralph F. Couey

A second try at Haiku...

The moon rises full 

Over the sea, calm and smooth 

The wind, warm and soft. 

The sound of grandkids 

Laughing, shouting with joy 

Is missed by my heart. 

The sound of the waves 

Gliding across the white sands 

Brings peace to my soul. 

The days pass so quickly 

The gift of time, here and gone 

Age steals the future. 

I stare in the dark 

What did I do with today? 

Did I make a friend? 

I sit down to write 

Will inspiration help me 

Fill empty pages. 

Remember the past 

The memories sweetly flow 

From a simpler time. 

Driving late at night 

I see another driver 

Wherefore are ye bound? 

Stars fill the night sky 

They shine across the light years 

I look at the past.

Sitting on the couch 

Her head rests on my shoulder 

This love has blessed me.

Life...And Taking Stock

"If all men are brothers

then why are the winds and waves

so restless?"

Hirohito

Copyright © 2021

by Ralph F. Couey

Since I retired in 2017, our lives have moved from one upheaval to another.  We actually enjoyed the constant changes for awhile.  We sold our home in Virginia and lived for brief periods in Aurora, Colorado, Casa Grande, Arizona, and San Dimas, California before returning to Aurora for awhile.  All these moves were connected to Cheryl's work as a travel, or contract nurse.  After being anchored to one place for so long, the moves were in a way exhilarating.  There was always a new adventure on the horizon, a new place to get to know, each with it's own particular, even peculiar charms.

Then in 2018, Cheryl got an assignment at Tripler Army Medical Center in Honolulu.  She was ecstatic, for she was finally going home.  

Before leaving Colorado for the last time, we made the tough decision to sell or donate nearly all of our possessions, including some beautiful furniture we had hauled around through our many moves since the late 1970's.  It was hard, but at the same time liberating.  We were no longer chained to 11,000 pounds of "stuff."  What used to fill a 2,400 square foot house has been pared down to a single storage unit, containing mostly winter clothes, Blu-Rays, and some legal documents.  At some point when travel becomes less cumbersome, we intend to go back and clear out that last space, especially since after my surgery, none of those clothes fit me any longer.

Upon our move to Hawai'i, we undertook the primary care for Cheryl's aging mother.  As the months have rolled past, that care has gotten more challenging.  She is 94, and her memory and cognitive abilities have continued to decline.  The family has given us a lot of help, and that has made things less stressful.  But as time has passed, a kind of routine has finally established itself, a kind of existential train that carries us through the week.

Monday, we have a private caregiver come in for eight hours.  She has been wonderful, and cares for Mom like she was her own.  This enables me to exercise and run errands before leaving for work in the mid-afternoon.  Tuesday, Irene takes Mom for the day, this despite the daunting task of caring for her husband who had been ill and had to begin dialysis.  For me, this is laundry and house cleaning day, one of my two days off each week.  If I get everything done, then there might be a couple of hours for me to retreat to Hale'iwa beach where I sit, empty my brain, and just listen to the waves.  I get home in time to cook dinner for us.  Wednesday is my other day off, and usually Cheryl's as well.  In the morning, we take Mom to adult day care, after which we either play pickleball or ground golf in the morning, and run errands in the afternoon.  

Thursday is my Monday, work-wise, and I get up early to take Mom to day care.  I walk around Ewa, preferable because unlike Pearl City, Ewa is flat with lots of shade.  After logging my four or five miles, I return home, clean up and hopefully catch a nap before going to work.  Friday is a repeat of Thursday.  Saturday, Cheryl spends the day with Mom, and after doing my walk and puttering around the house, its back to work.  Sunday, Merle picks Mom up for the day and we go to church.  After lunch, I get ready and go back to work.  Cheryl meets some friends in Kaneohe for pickleball, getting home in time to be there when Mom returns.

And that's pretty much our week.  Some things have changed, after having two slow-motion falls in the bathtub, Cheryl and her two sisters now bathe Mom, despite her strenuous objections.  This had to be done, not just because of the fall hazard, but repeated infections made it apparent that she was not able to clean herself.  We have to watch her carefully in the evenings because she gets restless and begins to wander around the house, which sometimes results in falls. Caring for an aging parent means there is no status quo, there are always changes, and always negative.  Even more distressing is the much more frequent comments that she wants to die.  None of us want that, or are even remotely ready for that.  But lurking out there is the sad knowledge that any day could be the last day.